


Not Everyone

by Sweetsugarmouse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Dubious Consent, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Jim is a Little Shit, Kidnapping, M/M, Not Beta Read, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Threesome - M/M/M, Torture, be gentle please this is my first fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-23 05:01:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20237149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweetsugarmouse/pseuds/Sweetsugarmouse
Summary: Matthew waited for his. While some of his friends had their childhood sweethearts and most others got them as teenagers. He waited.





	Not Everyone

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! this is the first thing I'v ever written on here, this isn't beta read so I apologize for any errors but other than that I very much welcome criticism and would like any tips you might have on how to improve my writing. This isn't finished and I don't have any kind of schedule but if people show interest I will continue to write more.

Matthew waited for his. While some of his friends had their childhood sweethearts and most others got them as teenagers. He waited.

Not everyone had one, a binding mark that was. They usually appeared on people’s forearms or wrists during puberty, the first words your soul mate would say to you etched onto the skin in that person’s handwriting.  
Some people who meet as children are born with tiny scrawls on their ring fingers, it’s considered lucky because they don’t need to spend their whole lives looking, less lucky maybe when they realise all they have to work with is a simple “hello” in eligible chicken scratch but that’s just how it went.  
Nobody knew how or why this phenomenon occurred but it was indeed the norm and so he waited for his own.

It’s considered rude to ask someone what their words are (not that that stopped people) but the more of his friends that came bouncing into school showing the marks around, the more he felt eyes on him, questioning if it had happen to him yet. It was a very awkward day when someone pointed out that he and the three least popular people in school were the only ones not to show off soul mate marks to anybody.  
It wasn’t uncommon, his family told him while sharing looks, and he knew that, he also knew it wasn’t uncommon for psychopaths not to have soul mate marks.  
Although it was theorised that some people with no marks might have soul mates that died before they could meet them, it was disturbingly common for criminals and insane people not to have them. Many books where written on the subject, where they unable to love someone because they where crazy? Or where they crazy because they knew they would never find love? Serial killers had been found with fake words they had scratched on themselves and crime families would get their arms cut in initiation ceremonies so no one would know if they had marks or not.

When Matthew became a young man he took to wearing long sleeves and bracelets all up his arms. If asked about his marks he would claim they where something embarrassing, it wasn’t hard to believe, he knew people who had things like “would you like to see my pet ducks?” and his personal favourite “I bet you could fit that whole thing in your mouth.”  
More and more he began to feel pushed, crushed down by all the suspicious looks when he changed the subject and happy couples boasting about how cute or stupid their soul mate words were.  
By the time he was supposed to be completing his college courses he’d already had enough. He felt so empty, so aimless. He’d started drinking and sleeping around just to numb the pain of knowing that the rest of his life would be spent bitterly alone.  
Eventually he decided that if this is what the universe decreed then so be it.

He became a thief, not the petty kind; he became a very elite thief. You want a priceless painting? Well he would get it for you. You want important documents from someone’s safe? Not a problem. He poured his life into becoming the very best at what was essentially a one man job. He considered being an assassin first but found himself lacking in skills, he didn’t think the army was for him ether, so strict and really he was still too afraid of proving the psychopath theory correct to go near weapons. After several very successful years as London’s top cat-burglar for hire he felt accomplished, powerful, screw all those bastards living in their nice love nests with their soul mates, one word from someone they pissed off and he could steel the floor from under them. He was in control of his own destiny now.

One day he woke up in pain, like somebody was cutting into the flesh of both his arms. At first he thought it was an allergic reaction, he cleaned it and put balm on it before going to buy some medicine. When he got home and rolled up his sleeves he was horrified.  
Both of his forearms had writing on them, it was almost unheard of.  
Was this why it had taken so long? Because he was some freak with two soul mates?  
He couldn’t find it in himself to be even slightly happy, the one historical account of someone with two marks that he could remember ended with her being burned to death by towns people who claimed it was unholy, it was worse than having no marks because at least that happened to some people, what sort of person could be bound to two others? He had no idea, what he did know was that he could never show this to anybody, he was an abomination.  
On his right arm down the middle was written “**you’re a tough one to catch**,” in very plain handwriting that looked like the sort of thing someone would scrawl on a notebook in a hurry using a ballpoint pen.  
The left arm could not have been more opposite, “_Well hello sexy_” was written finely just below his wrist, it was tiny and fancy enough to have been done with a fountain pen. Was it a woman’s handwriting?  
He covered himself back up and tried to stop thinking about it, not only was it a lot to deal with being the only person he knew of with two (and they hurt when he got them, everyone always said it felt like an itch not searing pain) but one of them was mentioning catching him.  
He had never been caught, that’s what made him the best in his line of work and he planed to continue being the best. This was written proof of his inevitable failure, his soul mate would catch him, perhaps they were police or maybe a rival but whoever they where got the better of him at some point and he couldn’t stand it.  
He hated the way it was so matter of fact too, such ordinary handwriting, who was this asshole?  
The other one he didn’t mind so much, what better first words to be greeted with than “well hello sexy.” In his minds eye he pictured a tall blond woman chatting him up at a bar with a drink, or cute guy, he liked both.  
He kept looking at them again despite his attempts to just ignore it, the more he read his right arm the more furious he became and contemplated scaring over it with a knife. Self harm didn’t seem a sensible solution and in the end he just covered the words back up and tried occupying his thoughts else ware.  
Continuing with his efforts not to deal with his soul mate marks he started taking more jobs to distract himself.

He did small burglaries and big ones, ones he might have passed up as too risky or nigh impossible, anything for him to take his mind off it. The more danger he got himself in the more he realised his whole life was now built on denial and the stubborn refusal to face his problems.  
He snuck in the shadows, he never dealt directly with anyone, he had shunned people from his old life and lived alone like he was fated to, it was all one big middle finger to the world were he was never meant to have love and now after all this time he had two soul mates and just couldn’t stop running away from them.  
It was scary for him, years he had dealt with the disappointment of checking every day to see if words had appeared yet, even longer he had spent getting comfortable being alone, his own man, one night stands and no strings, he thought he could live with it, until now.

Eventually his reckless behaviour caught up with him, he stole from someone he really shouldn’t have, a big fish that people like him usually swam away from but this time the pay was good and he craved the distraction. Bleeding profusely and half limping half sprinting down an ally, Matthew found himself stashing the documents he was paid to steal in an envelope addressed to a PO box he used anonymously and dropping it in the nearest post box without CCTV near as he went past, it was a trick he had used a few times just in case these people were still tailing him, and if they where good enough to actually catch him in the act and injure him then he probably hadn’t seen the last of them yet.

He ran rings all over London for a while until it seemed he’d given them the slip and headed for his nearest safe house. A first aid kit, food, a stiff drink and long sleep would be all he needed before laying low for a few days and retrieving the documents his client wanted once the heat was defiantly off him. He just hoped his client understood this was a tricky job and they might need to wait a while, he doubted they would, clients where stupid.  
He had just patched himself up and drank half a gin and tonic when the door was kicked off its hinges, “down on the ground you fucker!” somebody screamed as several men in black combat gear and masks, welding guns charged into his kitchenette.  
He was unarmed and before he could even think or act the butt of a gun smashed into his forehead, the men started trashing his whole safe house and frisked him none too gently. “Were the fuck are the documents you cock sucker!”  
“What documents?”  
That got him smacked round the head again, “don’t bullshit us!”  
He had never been in this situation before; usually he was too quick or crafty to be in any real danger. A fuzzy feeling welled up in his possibly concussed head and he wanted to vomit, all he could do was deny having any idea what they were talking about and even if these men believed him they might still kill him just to tie up loose ends, inevitably he was going to die.  
After a few more demands to know about the documents and a few more beatings, one of the masked men walked up tucking a phone away.  
“Boss wants to see him himself, wrap him up and let’s go.”  
With the speed of professionals, a bag was thrown over his head and his limbs cable tide together. He was dragged out of the safe house and shoved in a vehicle, the end of a gun pressed into the small of his back and someone muttered a warning about not trying anything.  
What might have been hours or just couple of minutes passed, he couldn’t tell but it felt like an age; before they came to a stop and he was manhandled once again outside. Cold air made his skin prickle, it was deathly quiet and he wondered how far they might have travelled, where they even in London any more?

Like a sack of cement, he was flung through some doors and dragged across the floor to a chair, they cut the ties on his feet only to duct tap his legs to the chairs legs and wrapped more tape around his torso; securing him to the chair back with his hands tied behind him. The bag remained on his head so he couldn’t see, but he was pretty sure the men left after that and for a while he was alone.  
His heart hammered and the wounds on his head throbbed along with the injuries he had sustained earlier, he had taken some pain killers before his capture so he wasn’t in awful pain but felt woozy and sick, he had lost a lot of blood and was definitely concussed, his head started to loll and he was on the edge of passing out.  
A loud bang made him jump. Someone had just kicked a door open and was walking calmly towards him, Matthew’s breath stilled and he could hear his own heartbeat thundering in his ears, he didn’t need experience being captured or even a look at this person to know someone who could really hurt him had just entered the room.  
There was a sound like a chuckle or maybe a snort of breath before a masculine voice echoed around the room.  
“You’re a tough one to catch.”  
Blood turned to ice in his veins. That was it wasn’t it? The words from his right arm. The soul mate that would capture him was here, of course he was. If his hands were free Matthew would have punched himself for being so stupid. The blows to the head and the overall terror of being caught had made him forget that his mark had predicted this exact moment and in trying to run from his problems he had actually gone sprinting straight into them.  
The irony was not lost on him and although the mystery man was now going over the many ways he could torture him to death for information, Matthew felt a laugh bubble up in his throat. The bag was ripped off his head, “what the fuck is so funny?”

His captor was tall, blond and dressed all in black, sort of like the person he had envisioned for his other words but infinitely more macho.  
Ramrod straight posture and a short-ish hair cut immediately screamed army, he was bronzed and muscular with an overall aura of someone who could and would punch you through a wall at any moment. His eyes were icy blue in colour and equally cold in expression with deep wrinkles ether side that made Matthew suspect that this man looked pissed off even when he wasn’t. He needed a shave, not badly but it seemed like more than just five o’clock shadow, ridged scars cluttered his bare arms and creped at his exposed neck like vines, they looked like battle scars and Matthew’s laugh died in his throat as he took in the over six foot; military beefcake scowling down at him. He was hot.  
A man’s man,  
A woman’s man,  
A, whatever the fuck took his fancy because who’s going to argue with him kind of man.  
He saw the state of his prisoners head and seemed to decide that was explanation enough for the crazed giggling; he wasn’t entirely wrong ether, if Matthew hadn’t been secured to the chair he would have fainted off it already.  
“tisk, hard to interrogate someone with a severe head injury, fucking armatures.”  
He sighed and ran thick, callous fingers through his short blond waves.  
“Let’s see what I can get out of you then.”  
“You’re my soul mate?” Matthew slurred out incredulously, he just couldn’t believe it, this man was about to torture him and he was also kind of a jack-the-lad despite that slight upper-class inflection in his voice on certain words, not his usual type at all.  
“Pardon?” the man’s lip twisted like a crisp wrapper melting in a fire, he resembled a strict teacher who had just been told the dog at someone’s homework.  
“You’re my soul mate, my right arm say’s so.” Matthew said weakly, the would-be torturer looked increasingly sceptical, “I don’t believe you.”  
“I don’t blame you,” Matthew gazed into the man’s eyes, he had almost resigned himself to his fate, there where no rules that said soul mates had to accept one another, some people openly rejected the idea of having that kind of decision made for them. This guy did not look like the romantic type and Matthew suspected he would easily hurt him, soul mate or not.

The man was staring hard at Matthew and seemed disturbed by the amount of truth he saw on his face, “that’s impossible, I don’t have bonding marks.”  
He looked at the man’s heavily scarred arms “how could you be sure? I only got mine a few months ago.”  
Again the interrogator detected no lies from him; he marched around the back of the chair and whipped out a hunting knife. Matthew cringed and expected to have it slicing into his kidneys at any moment but was surprised when his bonds were cut instead.  
His right arm was bent painfully back so the man could inspect it, he wisely kept any complaints to himself, staying still as his sleeve was slashed open and forearm exposed to the open air.

He took the moment to glance around the room, it was like a small storage room with a concrete floor, bare walls and metal shelving filled with boxes, it was so none descript it might have been any back room in any building of London.  
A sucked in breath over his shoulder told him that his marks had been found, his arm was dropped like a hot rock and the man stamped back to face him.  
“I still don’t believe it!” he looked utterly furious and was brandishing the knife in such a way that Matthew squirmed despite himself.  
“W-well unless you think I can see the future enough to carve that on my own arm I’m afraid it’s the truth, I’m not happy about it ether.”  
His captor made a sudden lunge and stabbed the knife into the meat of his thigh.  
“AAAAHHHHHHHHH!” he rocked in his chair and hit at the man with his freed hands, it made no difference really, this guy was as strong as rhino and pushed the blade in almost to the bone before letting go an smacking him in the face to stop his thrashing. “Shut up! And don’t take that knife out! I’m going to make a call.”  
He punched the doors open and marched out.

Matthew sobbed and bent forward, holding onto his impaled leg with white knuckled hands. He ignored the urge to remove the knife, it would have just made him bleed more, his instincts had been correct about this guy hurting him regardless of any plans the universe had for them being together. He raged in his head, what kind of sick joke was it that he was star crossed with a lunatic! Blood was seeping through his trousers and dripping onto the floor, he watched through blurry eyes as it itched into the grain of the concrete, fresh and bright red.

He woke up to someone splashing water on his face, he didn’t even remember passing out but looked down at the pool of blood on the floor and summarized that had been unconscious for quite a while.  
His head swam; he was in so much pain that even breathing sent a dull ache through his bones. “Wake up.” The man was back and seemed a little calmer than earlier, “I’ve brought company, answer his questions and maybe you’ll live through this.”  
He moved to hold the door open and gave a polite nod to whoever was outside.  
A short man wearing an immaculate grey suit with mirror polished shoes and slicked back black hair swaggered in.  
At fist he was hardily even noteworthy let alone intimidating, but the closer he got the more a veneer seemed to be stripped away from him. He moved with an easy confidence he shouldn’t have had, he looked both board and excited, tired and energised, it was… unsettling.  
A wicked twinkle danced in his almost black eyes and little smile wrinkles started to crease on his face, he looked too clean, fake like he didn’t quite fit his suit even though it was clearly tailored to him, a monster dressed as a man.  
“Well hello sexy,” he muttered in a soft amused voice.  
He was the second soul mate. Fucking really?  
Matthew might have laughed again if his every cell didn’t scream in terror as those mahogany brown eyes honed in on him. His mouth turned to cotton and he felt a strange compulsion to grovel low to the floor, instead he curled in on himself as much as was possible while taped to the chair, what the fuck was this guy? He made the danger signals coming from the military man seem like a campfire next to a burning house.

“You’ve got my tiger in a tizzy as well as my clients. How interesting. Your names Matthew isn’t it darling?” He had a noticeably Irish accent and spoke in low measured sentences, Matthew tried not to let his lulling voice distract from the clearly crazy glint in black abyss of the man’s eyes.  
When he didn’t answer, the well dressed man lightly touched Matthew’s chin and stroked a thumb over his bruised cheek.  
“I bet you’re quite the looker when you don’t have your head caved in.”  
Matthew noticed vaguely that the guy was chewing gum, spearmint by the smell of it. He tried to swallow but no moister occupied his mouth, he wondered if it was the dizzying blood loss that made this short and frankly plain looking businessman seem like a panther about to rip his throat out. “Show me your arm then.”  
He sounded suddenly board with his captives lack of retort and Matthew made an extra effort to put his tongue back in before these psychopaths lost all interest in him and removed it. “I think you’ll want to see my…” he gulped again, Christ his throat was dry, “…left arm too.”  
The business man quirked one perfectly plucked eyebrow and glanced over at the first man who had been leaning against a shelf looking ticked off.  
Shakily, he rolled down his undamaged sleeve and held both arms out like a man waiting to be tide to a cross. There was a heavy silence while the two men inspected him, when the military guy saw the second set of words “well hello sexy” written on the wrist his face screwed up so terribly it showed every wrinkle like the cracks on a dry riverbed.  
He looked agitatedly at his companion whose own expression was deceptively blank. “What do we do with him?”  
The shorter man turned his attention to the fretting soldier and pulled a mock worried face which twisted into a smirk, “relax tiger.” He placed one finger on the hilt of the knife buried in Matthew’s thigh, they locked eyes as he pushed gently, Matthew gritted his teeth and tensed as the pain lanced through him anew, he didn’t drop his gaze or make any sound, agony and that cocky look on the man’s face was putting heat back in his veins.  
He hated them, he hated the universe, he hated every shitty thing that led up to this moment, part of him wanted to just die already so it would all end.  
The fire in his eyes seemed to amuse the businessman and he made an almost purring noise in his throat, the other twitched minutely but held the same pissed expression, it was hard to tell exactly what he was thinking.  
“Where are the documents?”  
“Fuck you!” he spat just as the knife tip pierced the bone, all colour drained from his face and he saw double, “oh you are a tough one!” the man trilled sarcastically and wrapped his hand around the handle to twist the blade slightly. Matthew screamed and grasped the man’s wrist to stop him; suddenly he had him by the scruff of the neck with his other hand and bent low so they were nose to nose.  
“You’ve worked for me before you know, anonymously through others but still. You stole on my behalf more than once.”

His double vision was a haze of dark pupils like some painting of hell where a thousand eyes searched your soul. It made sense that he might have worked for this man in some indirect way before; he never actually met his clients face to face it was all emails and texts through various different channels of people. (He said to tell you that someone else wants something and you can find your money in whatever bank account etc.)  
“You were… sufficient, but I always thought you lacked backbone. Mediocre jobs for a mediocre thief. But the past few months you’ve been almost impressive.”  
He released his grip on the knife and moved back a little, “it would be such a waste to kill you. Also I don’t think my basher would be very pleased to lose his soul mate.”  
He cast a mock winsome grin at the man he referred to as “basher” whose responding look could have cut through steel girders.  
Matthew licked his lips and chuckled hollowly which caused them both to look questioningly at him, even close to fainting he couldn’t get over the cruel irony of the situation.  
“The past few months I’ve been trying to forget about the two binding marks that suddenly appeared on my arms.” He admitted. The soldier un-tensed slightly as he talked, “I can’t believe that after all this time… I’m matched up with you two fuckheads.”  
The shorter man grinned again, showing his perfect white teeth, “I’m insulted!”  
He turned to his “basher” and gestured at Matthew with one hand, “Aren’t you insulted Seb? Our shared dearest one here doesn’t like us!”

“Ah” he thought to himself “Seb-basher, Sebastian? Was that real or an alias?”  
“Knock it off Jim, what are we going to do about this?”  
“That has to be an alias” Matthew thought, “This maniac doesn’t look like a Jim at all.”  
“Jim” did not look pleased with Sebastian’s sour mood and stood very close to him as they locked eyes and talked up, into his face.  
“We are going to do whatever we like with him.”  
“He’s not going anywhere. No one is going to come looking for him, so calm the fuck down already!”  
Jim breathed in deeply, cooling as suddenly as he had blown up and stroked slowly down one of Seb’s scarred arms and then over his clenched fist.  
“We can take our time. Clearly the documents are not on him or in his house, I don’t think he would have had time enough to deliver them between the theft and when the team picked him up especially with those injuries, so obviously he’s hidden them somewhere. The documents are safe for now.”  
He glanced briefly at his captive as if checking he was reading something correctly.  
“So, what would you like to do with him? Since this is obviously bothering you.”  
Sebastian dropped his gaze and scratched his stubble awkwardly, “I don’t know.”  
He looked at Matthew with a strange mixture of fear, disgust, anger and tenderness.  
He then held his arms out and searched the marred skin “…do you think?” he didn’t finish his sentence, he didn’t need to.  
“It’s possible Moran. But dose it really matter? I thought we were above such things.”  
Matthew fidgeted; they had started talking like he wasn’t in the room and the tone of the conversation now sounded like a couple arguing over the new set of furniture they couldn’t agree on.  
“It doesn’t… matter. He doesn’t matter. But he’s for the two of us…”  
Jim’s face twisted into an expression the thief had no name for, he looked… pleased?  
Amused? Disappointed? Was that a snarl or a smirk?  
“Oh Sebastian.” He took hold of his chin and stood chest to chest, Matthew thought wildly that it resembled a cutesy poster of grey kitten pawing a golden retriever but with a far more sinister undertone.  
“Always so devoted to me, in anyone else I’d see that as a weakness.”  
Sebastian clenched his jaw, an unspoken thought passed over his countenance, I am not weak, but behind the waves of pride he just looked sad.  
That millisecond of sorrow Matthew saw in his expression spoke volumes and it suddenly clicked for him.

Sebastian was completely in love with Jim, for what ever reason and for however long, the blond, tanned army boy was head over heels for this short-arsed Irishman in a suit.  
Well that explained the (more than business partner) manner they had been displaying but the pairing made little sense to him, it was almost beauty and the beast esque except both were beastly and nether traditionally beautiful. Apart from their obvious shared taste for violence he couldn’t imagine them having much in common.  
“I suppose you think this means something do you?”  
Jim said it like he was asking if Seb thought that pigs could fly, despite this Seb held his stare and said unflinchingly “it might.”  
Jim regarded him carefully and a silence like static filled the small room.  
Eventually he rolled his eyes and tipped his head back and forth like an irate cobra.  
“Uck! I blame your parents for instilling in you such superstitious bollocks!”  
“So do I boss.”  
“Alright Moran, if you think this man you’ve just met is important just because of some writing he happens to have on him. Then you go ahead and keep him alive.”  
“He’s ours Jim! Both of ours!”  
“Fuck you” Matthew muttered, “I’d rather be dead.”  
They gave him the same look his parents used to give when he interrupted them, Sebastian scowled and Jim looked like he was hiding amusement.  
“I do like his moxie,” Jim admitted “reminds me of you when we first met.”  
Somehow Sebastian scowled even harder at that before huffing out a weary breath.  
“We can just see how it works out, please? I’ll kill him the moment you ask.”  
Matthew’s blood swirled around his skull; he couldn’t remember ever being this furious. He wasn’t a fucking kitten they could just through in a bag and drown if he annoyed them! He wanted to call them every foul word he knew until they had to cut his throat to quiet him but the rush of blood made the room dip and spin.  
Sweat broke out on his forehead and everything went grey, the words of the two men garbled and his ears started to ring, his sight turned to black shapes and he passed out.


End file.
